Nasty old paperwork hurts us!

I had to help a friend deal with some nasty old paperwork that caused them acute distress. I went straight from having done four hours of report generation (1) into assist mode for them then had to groove on some nasty old paperwork of my own when I got back to my desk.

Neither event caused anxiety.

That's wellness and it tastes delish.

WFTW.

(1) I emailed out the first report then had a sudden horrified thought I'd used data from the wrong date and, yes, sure enough the first nine pages were from a different day. It took 40 minutes to repair and resend. It was a public holiday yesterday but the reports are for each day. So as far as reports go that's just work delayed, not denied.

The agony and the ... wait, just agony

IBS flare, a nasty one. Thin worm slivers of green and foul, gut-churning gas. I've munged pills and now I'm going to try and ride some of the pain out. Somewhat ironic as riding itself comes with its own pain and ache.

Thank fuck it's a public holiday 'cos I'd not have been in. I didn't want to be around it, let alone inflicting it on anyone else.

The bike is daunting, like a mountain in the distance a wounded man must climb. Storm clouds gather at the top.

Or rather they will be once I'm on the top and riding. 

(Area man sprays air freshener around shed to take care of what has been and what will come).

UPDATE: I think the ride helped. I had to pause at the two kay mark though for another piece of toilet business then dash back out in time to turn the pedal one revolution lest the bike's timer reset. I collect stats on distance, resistance and even what I was watching or thinking about. But the bike only has about a minute of time once it stops before it resets the clock and you lose whatever stats you'd gained up to that point. 

I don't have a puh puh puh puh poker face

I wear my emotions on my face and I'm bad at disguising how I truly feel. 

I'd lost myself to a bit of dark introspection and as I strode back from the bathroom a manager asked if I was okay. I was honest; "had a flashback" I said.

"Take deep breaths, mate," he said as he strode on. 

I took some deep breaths and then I strode on.

WFTW.

Victory by moonlight

Our garden is a splendorous thing, especially when the solar lights kick in at dusk.

I stood on the lawn by the light of the solars and the moon and savoured my victory at still being here.

I've cheated death multiple times and I've had a profound impact. I've led and lead a meaningful life replete with moments of deep spiritual bliss—and I'm a fucking atheist.

Please kindly to be sticking that in your pipe and smoking it.

WFTW.

From the perspective of an ant

It's tough being a low echelon super competent. You've got these super powers but you have to deal with the views and attitudes of less capable people. And if you work in a an org with a rigid hierarchy that challenge happens more often than not. The trick is to educate not berate and show them the way ahead—but that doesn't always succeed and the challenge back is to try to accept it when it doesn't.

I had to deal with upsetting paperwork, scanning it in for reference. I made the mistake of reading chunks of it and getting angry, sad and the jitters all in one. The lack of understanding and rigidity shown was glaring and bright—a perfect example of what not should be.

But I ford on, even as my body shudders with the pain of my burdens, because I am just that fucking awesome.

Besides, I'm a super hero—and all super heroes have super burdens.

(Mikey stands, hands on hips, cape fluttering).

WFTW.

UPDATE: My old ladies are flaring lightly, pain squeaking out of my right shoulder. Curse you, subconscious!

I'm like Dr Johnson from Blackadder

There's this scene in Ink and Incapability from Blackadder III where Dr Johnson of Dictionary fame gives an impassioned speech about how focused he has been on his writing task that he missed people sexin' it up around him.

Johnson: Where is my dictionary?

Edmund: And what dictionary would this be?

Johnson: The one that has taken eighteen hours of every day for the last ten years.
   My mother died; I hardly noticed. My father cut off his head and fried it
   in garlic in the hope of attracting my attention; I scarcely looked up from
   my work. My wife brought armies of lovers to the house, who worked in
   droves so that she might bring up a huge family of bastards (1). 

Today a fierce squall hit Canberra, a wall of black cloud heading east over the Capital and unleashing rainy fury. 

I missed it. Oh, I was there. There were windows behind me. I could have both seen and heard it. 

But I was so focused on my assorted tasks that I only noticed it post-event when I walked outside to see the puddled aftermath. Earlier, when outside, I had seen the black wall of cloud coming, even spoken about it with others, but forgot about it all when I become one with my PC.

Mikey—fuck the weather, I got a report going!

(1) Excerpt taken from script at this Blackadder scripts website.

The garden by night

We played Mr Wobble 'til dusk, solar lights ebbing a faerie-sheen, with tears and laughter both.

WFTW.

Status restored

Recently I got called into a meeting. My "mostly harmless" rating—which had been downgraded due to gardening leave—was restored. Not only that I was praised for recent efforts and asked to consider taking on additional work.

That's super wellness, right there.

WFTW.